


Jeweled Harvest

by Pony Girl (Jackjunkie)



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Action/Adventure, Episode Tag, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackjunkie/pseuds/Pony%20Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heyes and Curry encounter train robbers, magicians, and a mountain of sand in their hunt for two million in jewels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeweled Harvest

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #11  
> Tag to episode The Man Who Murdered Himself

Leaning against the bar in the Winfield saloon, Hannibal Heyes nursed a whiskey and a sore jaw. The Kid packed a mean punch.

“Ya didn’t hafta hit me quite so hard,” he complained.

“I warned ya about the state my nerves were in.” Covered in trail dust from his hat to his boots, Curry was streaked an all-over muddy shade except for one startling flare of color where his azure eyes looked out peevishly at his partner. “You try hauling that much TNT over those roads, then see how well you take bad news.”

“It’s not so bad. We got two hundred dollars.”

“I got two hundred dollars. You got nuthin’.”

“I can explain that. And we’re partners, remember? Share and share alike.”

“I told ya I didn’t wanna hear no explanations. An’ I am sharin’. Bought you that drink, didn’t I?”

Heyes tossed down the last of the red-eye and looked longingly at his empty glass. “I need another.”

The Kid motioned the bartender over to pour another shot.

Heyes swallowed a mouthful, then winced and rubbed a hand along his jawline. “I let ya hit me, didn’t I? Least you can do is listen to my story,” he reasoned.

“You invited me to hit you,” Curry corrected. “And you were right, Heyes. I do feel better.” An amused tolerance chased the petulance from his eyes. “Okay, go ahead and tell me all about it.”

“Let’s sit down—and bring the bottle.”

Heyes selected a quiet table against the wall. Curry collected a fresh bottle from the barman and joined him. When they were both comfortably settled, Heyes began his tale of the man who murdered himself.

While the Kid had been delivering a wagonload of explosives to a mine, his friend had taken a job guiding an archeological expedition to the Devil’s Hole area. The group’s leader, one Norman Alexander, had claimed to be looking for evidence of a tribe of tall, red-headed Indians, rumored to have once inhabited the area. In reality he was a thief named Stephen Ashdowne, who tried to fake his own death in order to cover up a jewel robbery. Killed by a detective from London’s Scotland Yard, he’d been in no condition to pay his guide the wages and bonus promised him.

“That’s some story, Heyes. I guess it’s a good enough excuse for not gettin’ paid,” his partner commented, shooting him a shrewd look when he’d finished. “So you just waved good-bye to the fair Julia?” Heyes hadn’t gone into a lot of detail about the woman who’d masqueraded as the detective’s wife—in fact, quite the opposite—but Curry could read between the lines.

“Kid, Julia was a lovely, pleasant interlude—very pleasant, I admit—but nothing more. I put her on a train to Boston and that’s the end of it.”

“Mm hm,” the Kid murmured, taking a sip of his whiskey. His eyes widened and he sat up straight as he caught sight of a badge making its way across the room in their direction. The cordial greeting and the hand extended from behind the badge alleviated his alarm, though he remained alert.

“Mr. Smith!” said the sheriff, vigorously shaking Heyes’ hand. “This is a stroke of luck. You may be the very man we should be talking to.”

“Is that right, Sheriff?” Heyes fixed a friendly smile firmly in place. “Oh, excuse me, Sheriff Benson, this is my partner, Thaddeus Jones.” He gestured to the empty chairs at their table. “Won’t you join us?”

“Be glad to,” Benson said, shaking Curry’s hand as well, then turned to the man who accompanied him. “This here’s Henry Slater. Henry’s a conductor on the train passing through town. Winfield’s part of his regular route.”

Slater nodded at the two men as they all sat down. The bartender brought more glasses and Curry poured another round of drinks from his bottle. The amenities taken care of, the sheriff got down to business.

“Henry here’s been tellin’ me some mighty interestin’ facts.” Benson tilted his chair back and slouched comfortably. “We came in here to work it out over a drink, but I figure you oughtta hear what he has to say, seein’ as how you’re the only one left in town involved in the sit-chi-ation.”

“What situation is that, Sheriff?” Heyes did his best to look politely interested without letting his natural nervousness around the law show. He noticed that the Kid didn’t let his hand stray too far from his gun.

“It’s about that Alexander fella you was workin’ for,” the sheriff announced.

Heyes looked suitably solemn. “You know he’s dead, Sheriff.”

“Yeah, yeah, that English policeman told me all about it. Asked a lotta questions, too, but weren’t much I could tell ‘im. He was right interested in what Henry had to say, though.”

The little conductor nodded emphatically. “I was working on the train both he and Mr. Alexander arrived on. I always work the runs out from San Francisco and back. That trip was pretty routine. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, but I remembered both gentlemen very well and I told the sergeant everything I could. He seemed pleased.”

“What was it you had to tell him?” Heyes wondered where this was leading.

“He was mainly curious about a stop we’d made.”

“A stop?” Heyes’ curiosity was piqued as well. “Where was that?”

“Sand Springs, Nevada. By Sand Mountain.”

The name was unfamiliar. “Sand Mountain?”

“Yes, it’s quite an unusual sight, actually. A mountain all made of sand. The Indians call it the Singing Sands. There are all kinds of stories about it. Our passengers are always fascinated by it. We make a regular stop nearby to take on water and coal, so we’re stopped plenty long enough for anybody who cares to walk over and take a good look.”

“And did Mr. Alexander take a look?”

“Oh, yes,” Slater affirmed. “He said he liked to look into all the old Indian legends, on account of his profession, being an archeologist and all. Went on and on about it. The sergeant was very interested to hear that.”

“I bet he was,” said Heyes.

“It seems Finney took the westbound train after hearing Henry’s story, so I suppose he’s on his way to Nevada to check it out,” the sheriff guessed.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sheriff,” Heyes agreed. “It sounds like Mr. Finney has things well in hand.”

“Uh huh. Except he didn’t get the whole story,” Benson added.

“There’s more?” Eyebrows raised, Heyes glanced at Curry, but noted the Kid was content to let him guide the conversation.

“There was something else that I didn’t remember till after the sergeant left town,” Henry admitted. “Mr. Alexander did get out to take a look at Sand Mountain, but he didn’t spend much time there.”

“He didn’t?”

“No, he went over to the station instead. There’s an old Pony Express station at Sand Springs. Now it’s a stage depot and a mail drop. Mr. Alexander spent most of the stop at the station.”

“You don’t say.” Heyes pondered this revelation.

“Now it don’t take a fancy foreign detective to see that this Alexander, or Ashdowne, or whatever he called himself just might have mailed something there.”

“That’s so, Sheriff, but why tell me?” The brown eyes gazed measuringly at the older man, sizing him up. Benson had been helpful to him before, warning Heyes of his suspicions about Alexander when he first signed on as guide, but he couldn’t see what the lawman was getting at now.

“Well, like I told you before, you’re an American and a westerner,” said the sheriff, “and when it comes to dealing with foreigners, I feel duty-bound to look out for you. Now I don’t have the time or the authority to go chasin’ out of the territory to investigate a robbery that didn’t even take place in this country. But I figure you got a raw deal by comin’ outta that guide job with nothin’ to show for it, an’ maybe it you can help this Sgt. Finney find what he’s lookin’ for, there might be somethin’ in it for you.”

Turning it over in his head, Heyes looked at his partner.

The Kid shrugged and finally entered the discussion. “We haven’t got any other plans,” he said. “We might as well head west and see what we can dig up. Salvage somethin’ outta this worthless job o’ yours.”

“Just what I was thinkin’,” Heyes agreed. “Mr. Slater, we’d like to buy two tickets on your next train to Sand Springs. Pay the man, Thaddeus.”

*****

The train sped smoothly across the Nevada wilderness. It had been a rather long trip from Wyoming, and Heyes and Curry weren’t sorry they were nearing their destination, even though they had passed the time in agreeable company, for the most part.

Just now one of the less agreeable passengers ran past. He interrupted his yelling long enough to aim his peashooter at Heyes’ brown derby.

Snatching at it as it flew from his head, Heyes managed to catch it before it landed on the not overly clean floor.

“Oswald!” shrieked a female voice. The towheaded perpetrator stopped short, hiding the toy behind his back and gazing upward with an angelic expression on his small face.

A stout woman planted her hands on her hips and regarded the boy sternly.

“You haven’t been shooting that horrid blow-pipe again, have you?” she quizzed the child.

He shook his head in denial.

“You can play with it outside, but you remember I told you to put it away while we’re on the train, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“Let me see what you have behind your back.” She held out her hand imperiously.

Unobtrusively, Kid Curry plucked the offending weapon from the boy’s hands and secreted it beneath his seat.

Oswald held out his now-empty hands with an air of injured innocence.

“Well!” his mother exclaimed in surprise. “I’m happy to see I was wrong. Give Mama a hug, there’s a good boy.” She pulled her son to her and looked in puzzlement at Heyes.

“Charming child,” he commented with a forced smile.

“Yes, he takes after his father that way,” Oswald’s mama responded to Heyes’ compliment. She beamed down at her son, who now smiled sweetly up at her.

“Oh, and what does Mr. Beamish do?” Heyes inquired politely.

“He’s a railroad man,” Mrs. Beamish replied, shepherding her son back to their seats. Peeping out from behind his mother’s maroon poplin skirts, Oswald stuck out his tongue.

“That would account for it then,” Heyes muttered, brushing off his hat before setting it once again atop his brown locks.

Beside him, Curry chuckled, drawing a wounded accusation.

“Since when are you in cahoots with that brat? Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Aw, come on, Heyes,” his partner admonished. “Don’t be so stuffy. Getting all decked out in your dress hat, you’re just askin’ ta have it shot off. We woulda done the same thing at his age.”

“You’re just jealous I dressed up because you didn’t think of it first.”

Curry remained placid. “I don’t reckon an uncomfortable suit’s the only kind of ammunition to use on a lady.”

“Ah, but they say clothes make the man.”

“You of all people oughtta know enough not ta believe everything you hear.”

A light scent of perfume wafted past them.

“Miss Boulanger.” Heyes rose to his feet and tipped his hat to the woman who had just paused alongside them.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Smith, Monsieur Jones,” she said in a musical voice, nodding as she slid into the seat facing theirs.

“Ma’am,” the Kid said, half-rising and then dropping back into his seat.

“Such a beautiful morning, is it not?” she observed.

“It is now,” Heyes smiled.

Curry slid his eyes towards the ceiling.

“But do not roll your eyes, Monsieur Jones,” Miss Boulanger scolded. “You are supposed to agree with your friend and tell me how it is that I make the morning beautiful.”

The Kid smiled at the lady. “I never compete with my friend when it comes to pretty speeches. Talkin’s his strong suit.”

“And what is yours then?”

“Why, action, ma’am.”

It was Heyes’ turn to roll his eyes and snort with laughter.

Miss Boulanger smiled coquettishly at them both. “That is very well, but remember, mes amis, a lady likes both these qualities in a man—bold action and pretty speeches. But I must tell you, with such handsome men as yourselves, she can perhaps be content with merely one—or neither.”

Heyes laughed. “You have a talent for pretty speeches yourself, ma’mselle.”

She gave an eloquent Gallic shrug. “Eh bien, it comes from spending one’s life on the stage. Now come, we will talk of the trip. Today is the day we will see the mountain of sand you have told me about, no?”

Babette Boulanger and her brother Maurice were travelling the country with their magic act—“Maurice le Magnifique et la Belle Babette.” Heyes and Curry didn’t know how magnificent Maurice was at magic, but Babette was unquestionably a beauty.

With thick chestnut curls piled atop her head and tumbling about her shoulders, merry brown eyes, a peaches and cream complexion, and a trim figure set off to advantage by her fashionable wardrobe, Babette’s presence would grace any stage, including that of the Folies Bergere where she proclaimed they had once performed. She later confessed that it was not the famous one in Paris, but a lesser namesake in Montreal where they had appeared, “but this is not a distinction the public needs to know, you comprehend?”

Heyes and Curry were entranced and immediately set about whiling away the tedious hours of the train ride with concentrated flirtation. It became a contest to see which of them could outdo the other.

Curry was doubly motivated. Apart from enjoying Babette’s obvious charms, he knew Heyes couldn’t resist the challenge. The pastime should keep him from dwelling on any regrets he might have about Julia. He hadn’t spoken about her again, and the Kid was hopeful it hadn’t gone too deep. So he played along with the game, taking it as a good sign that Heyes wasn’t pining after anyone.

They kept up their flirting until the train pulled into the Sand Springs station. Since a lengthy stop was announced, most of the passengers got out to stretch their legs and “ooh” and “ahh” over the strange sight of a mountain made out of sand.

It resembled a giant sand dune rising unexpectedly out of the Nevada terrain. No one seemed to know its origins. It looked decidedly out of place against the western scrub. It did not, however, look like it harbored a hiding place for the two million dollars in jewels that Ashdowne, alias Alexander, had stolen from T.F. Ayers & Co. in London. Heyes and Curry turned their attention towards the stage depot.

The building was located a short walk from the mountain and would have been an easy detour for Alexander. The two men knocked on the door and introduced themselves to the station manager and his wife.

Asa and Letitia Hopkins welcomed them warmly.

“Why don’t you boys come in and have some gingerbread while we talk,” invited Mrs. Hopkins with a grandmotherly smile.

“Don’t mind if we do, ma’am,” Heyes said with an answering smile, “if it’s no bother.”

“Letty an’ me, we like the comp’ny.” Mr. Hopkins added his voice to the invitation. He led the way into a cluttered but cozy kitchen permeated with the sweet aroma of baking.

When they were all seated around the table with plates of fresh gingerbread before them, they got down to the subject of Mr. Alexander.

“It’s quiet here, being out of the way as you might say, so we don’t get so many visitors that we’re likely to forget one,” Mr. Hopkins explained, “even though my memory’s not what it used to be.”

“A busy station would be too much for us at our age,” said his wife, passing around the cream for their coffee, “but there’s just enough here for us to manage. It leaves us time for the work that gives us pleasure, too. Asa has his carpentry, and I have my needlework and my rock garden. You won’t find idle hands here.”

“And from time to time folks stop by to look at our mountain,” Asa added, “like your Mr. Alexander.”

Alexander had done more than chat about the mountain. As they’d suspected, he had indeed mailed something while he was there, to San Francisco—a bit of information the couple had also passed along to Mr. Finney when he’d stopped by a couple days earlier.

“Such a nice English gentleman,” Mrs. Hopkins remembered. “He drank a cup of tea and asked all the same questions about Mr. Alexander as you boys.”

“He got back on the train to San Francisco. Said he was going to see if he could track down the envelope Alexander had mailed,” Mr. Hopkins told them.

That was that, then. Finney had found out about the mailing even without Henry’s tip. He was a detective after all. It seemed there was no more for Heyes and Curry to accomplish here. They bade the friendly couple good-bye and returned to the train.

“Looks like we made this trip for nothing after all,” the Kid gloomily remarked as they reboarded. “Face it, we’re never gonna see a penny from that job o’ yours.”

“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t say it was for nothing,” Heyes replied. “We saw a mountain made all out of sand. We met some nice people. I won the heart of the fair Babette.”

“You? In your dreams, Heyes. She’s toying with you. It’s me she has eyes for.”

“You’re the one who’s dreaming, Kid.”

“Dreaming’s your department, Heyes.”

*****

Henry Slater gave the “All aboard!” signal and everyone returned to the train, chattering away about the strange mound of sand. Finding their seats and rearranging their belongings, they waited for the journey to resume. The train remained standing on the tracks. People were jerked abruptly from their speculations when two men with guns burst into the car from the front and another from the rear.

Kid Curry started to reach for his gun, but it didn’t take Heyes’ hand on his arm to make him realize it was no good. Abandoning the attempt, he raised his hands in the air along with the rest of the passengers.

“Just take it easy, folks, and no one’ll get hurt,” the taller man in front was saying. He kept his rifle trained on the passengers as his companion passed through the car collecting guns. Curry and Heyes reluctantly handed theirs over.

“This is an outrage!” sputtered Mrs. Beamish. “When my husband hears of this…”

“Now, ma’am, we don’t mean you no harm,” the spokesman and apparent leader told her.

A fourth man entered behind him and tried to get his attention.

Mrs. Beamish continued to fume. “I’ll have you know my husband is Jasper C. Beamish and he works for this railroad…”

“Bully for him. What is it, Squirrel?” the rifleman said irritably to the newcomer.

“I said, there ain’t no safe on the train, Virgil,” the short, pudgy man called Squirrel informed him morosely.

“What? Whaddya mean, there ain’t no safe? There’s gotta be. Did you look where I told ya?”

“We looked everywhere, Virge. There ain’t no safe.”

“Do I gotta do everything myself? I’ll go have a look-see. You take Chet and go check out the stage depot.” He turned back to address the passengers again. “You folks stay put now and do like my boys tell ya, and won’t be no reason anybody has to get hurt.” He departed with Squirrel.

A hubbub arose upon his departure, everyone trying to talk at once.

“Quiet down now. Quiet!” ordered the man who had collected the guns and now guarded the front door. “Jest sit still till Virgil gets back, and me an’ Mort won’t hafta shoot none o’ ya.”

At the rear entrance, Mort just grinned and pointed his gun lazily towards the group at large. The talking died down.

In just a few minutes, Virgil was back. He and another of his men hustled Henry Slater, the engineer, and the fireman into the car with the passengers.

“Whaddya mean, it was on the last train?” Virgil yelled at Henry. “I stole that schedule myself. It was s’posed ta be on this train!”

Henry twisted his cap nervously. “They changed the schedule.”

“Ya know, that’s the problem with the railroad,” Virgil roared, “the trains never keep to the schedule!”

“What are we gonna do now, Virge?”

“I dunno. I gotta think.”

Everyone was quiet while Virgil thought. It appeared to be an arduous process for him.

Just then Mr. & Mrs. Hopkins entered the car, followed by Squirrel and Chet.

“We didn’t have no luck over to the stage depot, Virge,” Squirrel said. “We brung these two along. Didn’t wanna leave ‘em to warn no one.”

“Good thinkin’, Squirrel,” Virgil responded. “All o’ you just sit down while I figger this out.” He waved the station and train employees to empty seats.

Silence reigned, tense on the part of the prisoners, respectful on that of the gang.

“You could let us go,” someone finally ventured politely. All eyes swiveled toward the person who had dared speak up. It was Heyes.

“How’s that?” Virgil asked.

Heyes smiled ingratiatingly. “It’s obvious you can’t obtain what you came for. It seems to me the wisest course of action at this point would be to cut your losses and leave.”

“Without nuthin’ to show for it? Mister, that ain’t how Virgil Ross runs things,” Virgil declared.

“We could hold up the passengers, Virge,” Squirrel suggested helpfully.

Virgil cast his eye down the car and sniffed. “Don’t expect we’d get much of a haul from this sorry-lookin’ lot.” As his gaze swept past Mrs. Beamish, he paused and back-tracked to consider her.

“What was that you was sayin’ before? About your husband workin’ for the railroad?”

“Indeed he does,” that woman asserted. “He holds a very important position, and when he finds out how you’ve treated his wife and son, not to mention these other passengers, you are going to be in grave trouble.”

“Mebbe, mebbe not.” Virgil rubbed his stubbly chin thoughtfully.

“You got an idea, Virge?”

“I just might, Squirrel.” Virgil squinted his eyes in concentration. “I’m thinkin’ if this here railroad man is so almighty important, he just might pay a lot of money to have his family back safe. In fact, the railroad just might pay us to get all these folks back safe, and their train, too. The money we came for ain’t here for us to take, so we can just ask the railroad to bring it to us.” He grinned widely in triumph, and his expression was reflected on the faces of his men.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Mrs. Beamish was flabbergasted.

“Oh yes, I would,” Virgil countered. “Squirrel, you an’ the boys stay here and guard our ‘guests.’ I’m going to the depot to telegraph the railroad.”

“I’m not certain that’s such a good idea,” Heyes began.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m runnin’ this gang an’ you ain’t,” Virgil threw over his shoulder as he left. His men laughed.

“I wish you was runnin’ this gang, Heyes,” Curry muttered sotto voce. “I don’t think I like bein’ on the other end of a train hold-up.”

“Me neither, Kid.”

*****

The gang let their captives talk softly amongst themselves while they waited for an answer from the railroad. They took it in turns to guard the prisoners, wait by the telegraph in the stationhouse, and stand watch outside the train.

Curry and Heyes briefly considered attempting force, but decided six armed men were too much for them. There was too great a chance of someone getting seriously hurt, especially with women, children, and elderly people on board. So Heyes settled down to do some serious thinking—not as problematic an activity for him as for Virgil Ross.

Mrs. Beamish subsided from making threats and put all her attention into fussing over Oswald. The boy squirmed a bit, but so far remained relatively subdued at the sight of the gunmen.

Mr. & Mrs. Hopkins had sat down across from the Boulangers, who were kindly engaging them in distracting conversation. The young people’s adroit efforts seemed to be succeeding, as the older lady appeared much less flustered. At the moment they were deep in a discussion of flowers.

“After a performance I always receive many bouquets from admirers, so I do not so much miss my little garden back in Quebec,” Babette said artlessly.

“My sister has quite the green thumb, as you say,” Maurice revealed. “Our grandmère was the same way. She could make anything bloom.”

“I do like a nice flower garden,” Mrs. Hopkins replied. “Of course that’s something I have to do without in this country, but I make do with my rock garden.”

“My dear, you do much more than make do. Your garden’s a fair treat—I’ll wager your rocks and brush could put some flower gardens to shame,” her husband declared proudly.

The Canadian girl clapped her hands. “But this is a marvel, to make a garden without flowers.”

“Perhaps I can show it to you when this is over,” Mrs. Hopkins suggested. “I think you’d enjoy seeing it. The last person to show such an interest was that nice Mr. Alexander.”

The name pulled Heyes from his abstraction.

“What was that about Alexander?” He leaned forward to speak past his partner and across the aisle to Mrs. Hopkins. “Did you say Alexander was interested in your rock garden, ma’am?”

“Why yes, he was. Didn’t I mention that before? He even gave me some new stones for it.” She smiled and cocked her head, looking rather birdlike.

Heyes gulped. “New stones?” he quavered.

“Yes. Well, they’re cut glass really, but they sparkle so prettily in the sunlight. They add such a nice touch. I’m only sorry we don’t have a garden society nearby. I’m sure no one else has anything quite like it.”

“I’m sure you’re right, ma’am.” Leaning back in his seat and drawing a shaky breath, he regarded Curry, who gaped at him in stunned surmise.

“Heyes, you don’t think…?”

“Oh yes, I do. This settles it, Kid. We have got to turn the tables on this bunch.”

Curry ruminated on that. “Can’t we just sit back and wait for Beamish to come ransom his wife and kid? This Ross seems to have his gang under control—they don’t show any signs of being over eager to shoot up the place. They’ll probably leave peaceable once they get their money, and then we’re all free.”

“I got a couple problems with that, Kid. I don’t believe the railroad’s about to hand over any money to outlaws, for any reason. We got too much experience with them tells us different.”

Curry nodded his accord with that sentiment.

Heyes continued his theorizing. “What they’ll do is come down here with a posse and shoot it out with Ross and his boys. There’s bound to be bloodshed, and who knows who could get hurt or killed before it’s over? Even if by some chance they do decide to deal with ‘em, it could still mean trouble for us. Either way, I don’t want to sit still waiting for a bunch of lawmen and railroad men to come look us over. We been lucky so far, bein’ in strange territory, but the chance is too great that some of ‘em would recognize us.”

“That’s so.”

“Another thing, now that we know that dear little old lady has two million dollars’ worth of gemstones lying around her rock garden, we got to get ‘em to Finney in San Francisco before he sets sail for Australia or Hong Kong.”

“Hong Kong?”

“Those are some of the other places he mentioned he was planning to search for the jewels.”

Curry followed the logic. “Once he tracks down whatever Alexander mailed to San Francisco, he won’t have much reason to stick around there anymore.”

“Exactly. So we gotta get this train moving again soon. And I think I got a plan, if we can count on help from the talented Miss Boulanger—and if you think you can get that Beamish boy to cooperate.”

“Oswald? How does he fit into it?”

“Like this.”

*****

It was approaching dusk when Heyes made his move. Virgil had just received the latest report that there was still no word from the railroad.

“I think you gotta make up your mind that they’re not gonna pay.”

“Who said that?” Virgil looked accusingly at the rows of people.

“I did.” Heyes waved to attract his attention.

“You again. Whadda you know about it anyway?”

“I know enough to tell that if they haven’t telegraphed by now, they’re not gonna.”

“Well, you’re wrong. It’s just takin’ a while longer ‘n we thought is all.”

“Look, Virgil… may I come up there to talk with you?” Heyes stood in his seat and waited for permission to move.

“Well, come on then, but watch it. No funny business.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Heyes climbed over Curry and strode up the aisle to stand in front of Ross.

“Well, spit it out. I ain’t got all day.”

Heyes adopted a friendly air. “Look, you and I both know the railroad isn’t going to pay you money. They’re going to round up a posse and come down here to ambush you. It’ll take them a while to get organized, and another while to get here from Carson City, but come morning I expect you’ll have to be prepared to shoot your way out of here.”

Virgil scoffed at the notion. “They ain’t gonna shoot at us when we got all these folks in here. If they try anything, we’ll just use hostages to get away.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. Railroad’s awful tight with their purse-strings—they’ll shoot before they’ll pay. Trust me, I know. Then what good’s it gonna do you to get away as poor as you came in?” Heyes let that sink in a moment and then started baiting the hook. “Wouldn’t you rather go away without a shootout and with a fortune besides?”

“Well, o’ course, who wouldn’t? You gonna tell me how to do that iffen I don’t get it from the railroad?” Ross sounded unconvinced that he could do any such thing.

“I just might be able to do that.”

“I’m listening.”

Heyes leaned forward and whispered confidentially, “Buried treasure.”

“Buried treasure?!” Virgil repeated in astonishment.

Heyes nodded. “That’s right.”

Virgil eyed him skeptically. “Who are you anyway, mister?”

“Name’s Joshua Smith.” Heyes held out his hand and Virgil shook it bemusedly. “I’m an archeologist.”

“An arky-which?”

“Archeologist. Means I study old civilizations, remains, artifacts. I dig things up,” Heyes explained more simply when Virgil continued to look blank.

“And you’re gonna dig us up some buried treasure?” He nudged Chet, who laughed along at the joke. “Guess we shoulda asked sooner. Saved us all this trouble.”

“Laugh if you will, but maybe you can explain that mountain of sand out there.” Heyes pointed out the nearest window.

Virgil glanced at the strange spectacle they’d all marveled over earlier. He began to look uncertain. “I can’t. You telling me you can?”

“That’s right.” Heyes leaned against the edge of a seat and nonchalantly crossed his ankles. “A long time ago, before even the Indians lived here, this territory was all under water.”

“Under water? That’s hogwash!”

“Not at all. The sea covered California, Nevada, Utah. Where do you think the Great Salt Lake came from?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Ah, but I have, along with other scholars. When the sea receded to its present position, it left that sand deposit sitting in the middle of the plain where you see it now. The local Indians call it the Singing Sands. On some nights, a lonely voice can be heard singing from within the mountain.”

“That’s a right purty story, but so what?”

“I’m getting to that. My theory is that there are underground caverns and sea-water deposits beneath the mountain. I’m here to investigate reports of mermaid sightings.”

“Mermaids!”

“That’s right. The only way a mermaid could possibly have gotten here is through the sea. If she was left behind when it ebbed, she’d have been trapped here with no way back. If she’s still here after all this time, the likelihood is that she’s still guarding her treasure.”

“Treasure? How do you know there’s treasure?”

“Oh, mermaids always have treasure. They gather it from shipwrecks and hoard it up. They like shiny things. Just think—it could be pirate gold or jewels from a sunken royal fleet. Just waiting for someone like us to come along and find it.”

“That’s a pipe dream.” Virgil was still resisting the lure, but Heyes could tell he was sniffing at the bait.

“Maybe. There’s one way to find out for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s go take a look.”

Virgil mulled that over for a moment, then came to a decision.

“Why not? Mort, you can handle things in here on your own for a bit. Chet an’ me are taking Mr. Smith on a treasure hunt. With two of us watchin’ you, you better not try anything, like runnin’ away.”

“Virgil, that’s the last thing I want to do, believe me. Finding this mermaid means as much to me as it does to you.”

*****

Mort stood guard, leaning comfortably against the front door of the car. He raised his hat briefly to scratch beneath his matted black hair. Suddenly he shook his hand as he felt a sharp sting. He leapt upright and slapped a hand to his neck as a second sting impacted there.

“Hey!” he yelled, looking wildly around for the cause of his pain. Spotting Oswald and his deadly peashooter ducking behind a seat, he charged.

Oswald darted from cover and raced down the aisle, but Mort’s longer legs easily overtook the boy. Mort grabbed for him just as another pair of hands swept him into a seat. Kid Curry protectively blocked the outlaw from reaching the child

“Let me at ‘im, the little devil!” Mort raged.

“Whoa now, take it easy, he’s just a kid,” Curry tried to pacify him.

“A kid who ain’t never gonna grow up, he keeps that up!”

“He’s gettin’ bored in here with nuthin’ to do. He was just havin’ a little fun.”

“I’ll teach ‘im how to have fun.” Mort looked menacing.

“Here!” The Kid pulled the peashooter from Oswald’s hands and turned it over to the outlaw. “I’ll keep an eye on ‘im, make sure he don’t bother you no more. Just leave ‘im be.”

Mort looked from the peashooter to the boy, then stuffed the toy in his back pocket. “Keep him away from me.” He turned and sauntered back to the front door. Along the way he failed to notice a little change in the seating arrangements across the aisle, where Maurice Boulanger was now entertaining the Hopkinses without the presence of his sister.

Curry turned to the youngster and held out his hand. “Good job, Oswald,” he said.

Oswald looked at him fiercely from under straight blond bangs. “Wally,” he insisted.

The Kid grinned. “I know how you feel, kid. Okay. Wally.”

Wally solemnly shook his hand. “Tell me when you want me to help again.”

“But Mort took your weapon,” the Kid pointed out.

Wally dug around in his pocket and produced another peashooter.

Curry grinned again. “Good man. Keep it hidden. I’ll let you know if we need it again.”

*****

Appearing and disappearing were all in a day’s work to Babette. Compared to escaping from locked cabinets before crowds of onlookers, slipping out a door behind Mort’s back while he was being distracted was child’s play. She didn’t expect evading the other outlaws to be too much trickier.

She made her way quietly to the baggage car, where she rummaged through her trunk. Finding the items she sought, she then carefully exited the train and began a roundabout route to Sand Mountain.

*****

“All right, we’re here. Where’s this mermaid of yours?” Virgil stared suspiciously at Heyes as if he expected him to produce her from his pocket.

“Ssh! You’ll scare her away,” Heyes cautioned.

Virgil and Chet looked back at the mountain, half-believing they’d see her diving through a hole in the sand. The mountain was deserted.

“When you go hunting, you don’t make a lot of noise and expect the game to come walking right up for you to shoot, do you?” Heyes inquired in exasperation. “We got to sit quiet and wait. She won’t show herself if she thinks anyone’s about. Maybe when it gets a little darker, we’ll be able to surprise her.”

Hunting was something they understood, even if they’d never hunted mermaids before, so they went along with the plan. As the dusk deepened into twilight, a melancholy tune floated through the still air. It was a feminine voice singing, a haunting refrain in a language totally foreign to their ears. Even Heyes, who knew it must be in French, thought it sounded otherworldly.

The waiting men jumped to their feet. Creeping around the base of the mountain, eyes straining to penetrate the gloom, they halted suddenly at Heyes’ upraised hand. Two pairs of eyes followed his pointing finger and blinked in disbelief at the vision they beheld.

Seated on the sandy slope was a beautiful woman singing a sad song. Though they could not understand the words, the emotion was clearly conveyed. She was combing her long golden hair, which cascaded down over the filmy green garment which clothed her upper body. As their eyes passed downward over her form, however, they noticed that her lower body was not that of a woman, but of a fish, silvery scales glinting against the sand. It was a mermaid!

A finger to his lips to entreat their silence, Heyes backed Virgil and Chet slowly away, till the vision was at the edge of their view. Scarcely daring to breathe, they listened until the song faded away. As they watched, the mermaid turned and disappeared over a rise in the dune.

As if waking from a trance, Virgil gave his head a little shake and let out a whoop. “We done it! We found her!”

“I can’t hardly believe it, Virge. A gen-u-ine mermaid,” Chet breathed, his eyes round in amazement.

“That means there’s treasure, right? You said she’d have treasure,” Virgil accosted Heyes. He was hooked; it was time to reel him in.

“Bound to be,” Heyes confirmed. “No telling what kind—could be bullion or coins, jeweled crowns or ropes of pearls. Could be unlike anything you’ve ever seen, beyond imagination.”

A greedy light shone in Virgil’s eyes as he gave imagining a try. “So what do we do now?”

“Now? Now we dig,” Heyes dictated. “Near the spot where we saw her. She wouldn’t go far from it. It has to be in that area, maybe in an underground pocket or cave of some kind.”

“Okay, Chet, tell you what,” Virgil decided. “Go back and round up a couple more of the boys. Leave Mort on guard in the train and Squirrel by the telegraph. See if you can find some shovels at the depot, anything we can use to dig, and bring ‘em back with you. We got us a treasure to find!”

Heyes rubbed his hands together. “Yessir, we should be digging up that treasure chest in no time.”

Virgil impaled Heyes with a penetrating stare. “’We’ does not include you, Smith,” he stated uncompromisingly. “Chet, take him back to the train. I’ll wait here to mark the location.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Heyes objected. “I’m the one that found the mermaid. You wouldn’t know anything about the treasure if it hadn’t been for me.”

“And we’re thankful for the information, ain’t we, Chet? But that don’t mean we aim to share it with you. So long, Smith.”

Grumbling softly to keep up appearances, but inwardly smiling, Heyes trekked back to the train with Chet.

*****

Depositing Heyes back in the railroad car, Chet gave Mort a brief update before going off to complete his mission.

Heyes took up his grumbling again with Mort. “I insist on having a share in this treasure. I did all the work of finding it, and I’m not just going to stand by and let you take it away from me.”

“That’s exactly what you are gonna do if that’s what Virgil says.” Mort waved his gun threateningly.

“Wait a minute! Do you mean to say this arky-whatsit feller is helping your gang?” Curry’s voice rose from his seat in the back.

“I certainly am helping and I’m being double-crossed! I deserve to get something for my help.”

Mort planted his face right in front of Heyes’. “You deserve to get a punch in the mouth if you don’t stop mouthin’ off. Now sit down!”

“I say he should get a punch in the mouth anyway,” declared the Kid, standing up and striding purposefully up the aisle. Murmurs of agreement from his fellow prisoners followed him as he went.

“Now see here, are you going to let him treat me like this?” Heyes demanded of Mort.

“Like what?” Things were happening a little fast for Mort to follow.

“Like this,” Curry said, stopping in front of Heyes and swinging his fist. Mort blocked the Kid’s punch and grabbed at his arm, leaving an opening for Heyes to turn and slug his friend. Curry went down and Mort’s gaze followed after him.

“What’d ya do that for?” Before he had time to finish looking back up, Heyes’ fist flew a second time, landing squarely on Mort’s jaw. The outlaw’s head snapped back and banged against the door just as his feet were knocked out from under him by Curry’s kick. Mort dropped unconscious to the floor.

Hefting the gun he lifted from Mort’s slackened grasp, Heyes reached down with his other hand to help his partner to his feet.

Rubbing his jaw, Curry eyed him with misgiving. “Did you hafta put so much enthusiasm into that punch?”

“Had to make it look real, didn’t I?”

“Oh, it looked real all right. Felt real, too. You enjoyed that,” he accused.

“You know, Thaddeus, you were right about the effect that can have on one’s nerves. I feel much better now.” Heyes smiled winningly.

The door opened behind him and the two partners spun towards it, Heyes aiming his newly acquired gun and the Kid readying his fists for another fight. Framed in the doorway stood Babette, costume and wig draped over her arm.

“You understand I am used to men throwing themselves at my feet,” she announced, looking dispassionately at Mort’s recumbent form, “but not to guns and fists pointed at me. May I enter?”

Heyes laughed in relief. “Ho ho, indeed you may.” He grabbed her shoulders and planted a grateful kiss on her lips. Turning to the car’s other inhabitants, he proclaimed, “Ladies and gentlemen, the loveliest, most convincing mermaid in all the world!”

“It was nothing,” Babette said modestly. “As I have said, Maurice and I have practiced this act many times. I will tell you, it is much harder to do while escaping from a tank of water.” Stepping delicately over Mort’s inert body, she returned to her seat next to her brother.

After assuring himself that his sister was none the worse for her latest theatrical experience, Maurice went forward to assist Henry in tying Mort up safely.

The train’s engineer and fireman approached Heyes and Curry. “We can get the train started now.”

“Mr. Jones and I will go take care of the man in the stationhouse,” Heyes answered. “Get things ready, but don’t pull out without us.”

“The rest of you folks just stay put. We’ll be back soon as we can, and then we’ll have you out of this mess and freely on your way.” The Kid nodded encouragingly as they left.

*****

Getting the drop on Squirrel was not much of a problem. Leaving him tied him up not too uncomfortably inside, Heyes and Curry strolled out the back door.

“Heyes, they been here this long, they should be safe a while longer. Shouldn’t we just head on back to the train and outta here?”

“Kid, there is no way I can just ride away and leave all those gemstones lying in the dirt. It’ll only take a moment to pick them up. ‘Sides, I don’t wanna take a chance on any of that bunch stumbling across them here.”

Letty Hopkins was right. It was a very attractive rock garden. Artfully arranged in one section were a few rows of small stones, winking in the light from their lantern. The men scooped them up, careful not to miss a one.

“Look at them, Kid. They’re beauties. Two million dollars, right in our hands.”

Curry laughed exultantly. “Prettiest posies I ever picked. How much of a reward do you think we’ll get?”

“I don’t know, but it’s got to be more than the three hundred I was counting on getting paid by Alexander.”

“Just think of those boys out there digging in the sand for treasure, and here it is lying right in plain view. No digging required.”

“Maybe going straight’s finally paying off, Kid. There was a time we coulda been in their shoes.” A faraway look came into his eyes, but he blinked it away. “Let’s get back to the train.”

They signaled the engineer as they reboarded, and the train lurched forward. The ordeal was over.

*****

“Virgil! Hey, Virge, look!” Chet stopped his digging and pointed at the moving train. “The train’s pulling out. They’re getting away!”

Virgil glanced at the cars disappearing into the darkness. “Let ‘em git. Wasn’t worth nuthin’ anyhow. Back to digging, boys. We got treasure to find!”

*****

They were still digging when the posse from Carson City arrived the next day. As the deputies rounded them up and carted them off to jail, they were still muttering feverishly about mermaids and buried treasure. The lawmen concluded that they must be suffering from sunstroke.

*****

In Carson City, Curry and Heyes said good-bye to their new friends—the happily reunited Beamish family, the Boulangers anticipating sold-out performances, and the Hopkinses preparing to return home to a rock garden that had lost a little of its glitter. Letty was all aflutter to learn that they’d been custodians of such costly stones, and was only too happy to see them safely on their way to San Francisco.

Upon their arrival, Heyes and Curry tracked down Mr. Finney and presented him with the missing jewels and the story of their recovery. The reward he offered them would be enough to share with Mr. & Mrs. Hopkins and Henry Slater, and still have plenty left over for themselves.

“I’ll be transporting the jewels back to London personally. It was good to see you again, Mr. Smith,” Sgt. Finney said as they shook hands in farewell, “and very nice to meet you, Mr. Jones.” He regarded them with a twinkle. “It’s a very curious pairing of names for two partners to have. I can honestly say you’ve been nothing but a help to me, yet it’s a fortunate thing that I must be off again before I have time to do too much wondering, as I remarked to you before.”

“Always better not to wear out a welcome, Mr. Finney,” Heyes smiled.

“Now that’s one lawman could give us a heap of trouble if we hadn’t mended our ways,” Curry conjectured as they walked away.

“I have a feeling you’re right, Kid.”

They paused outside Finney’s hotel to look up and down the city street.

“What now, Heyes?”

“Whaddya say we spend some of this reward money?”

“I say that’s one of your better plans. Got anything in mind?”

“Oh, I was thinking about heading back to Nevada and taking in a magic show. Maybe spending some of it on a pretty French Canadian performer.”

“Just what I was thinkin’, Heyes.”

“Go find your own beautiful French magician.”

“Now, Heyes, you gotta realize something about Babette. That is one lady would prefer a gentleman on each arm.”

Heyes thought it over. “You know, Kid, you’re right.” He grinned. “Well, the good thing is we won’t even have to flip a coin.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Sand Mountain is a real place, but the story Heyes tells about it is fiction.


End file.
